Blades, Bows and Blood
by nerwende90
Summary: I know it should scare me, how I don't stop to think anymore... Darkfic, Rated T for self-harm and suicide, read at your own risk. No longer a oneshot, as my muse provided Sherlock's POV.
1. Blades, Bows and Blood

**JOHN**

.

I know it should scare me

How I don't stop to think anymore

I'm starting to think that maybe

If I don't do it it'll hurt more

.

The blade slices my skin three times

Scarlet drips on ivory porcelaine

With only tears to cauterize

The stigmata of my deepest pain

.

I wonder how long it'll take

To go from managment to ending

When I finally completely break

And cut so deep I won't feel a thing

.

If my friend knows - which he must

He never says a word about it

He probably thinks that this is just

Another one of my weird habits

.

Or he thinks he's not one to talk

Cocaine, morphine and God knows what

Have taken much more than their toll

On him, so he leaves it at that

.

But just this once I wish he could

See that I need more than a case

Or a beer, no matter how good

To fend the demons that I face

.

I put away the razor and rinse my wrist

Watching the reddish whirlpool in the sink

Bandage the wound and unroll my sleeve

Regretting that I didn't stop to think

.

I put on a smile and get downstairs

To my friend lounging on the couch

He gives me one of his hard stares

And quietly mouths the word "Ouch"

.

He stands and for just one moment

I think we might just start talking

He can yell, he can shout, I'll take his rant

If it means the pain can start fading

.

But he just tells me Lestrade called

Dons up his coat and thrusts me mine

Next we're standing in winter's cold

Listening to that smart friend of mine

.

He talks about that poor girl's dad

And the way he let her down

He says it's just plain suicide

And says Lestrade's wasted his time

.

Back to our home in Baker Street

He takes up his violin and bow

A screech is all that my words meet

As the instrument suffers his rows

.

Meanwhile I'm trying to ignore the call

Of the blades, the meds and my own gun

As they promise to give my soul

It's needed rest, if I just let them

.

The ache is more than I can bear

And as I look at my flatmate

I know that whether I'm here or there

In the end, to him, it's all the same

.

So here I am, back at the sink

Razor heavy in my hand

I don't allow myself to think

As I let my sorrow command

.

Scarlet doesn't drip anymore

It's more of an actual flow

I watch without an once of horror

As it follows the rythm of his bow

.

The doctor side of me starts screaming

Tells me I have to stop it now

"Hurry, man! Stop the bleeding!"

Only I can't remember how

.

I sit on the edge of the tub

Feeling myself start to slip

I numbly think of the ruined rug

Mrs. Hudson won't like that one bit

.

I'm vaguely aware I fell to the floor

And the violin's fallen silent

I don't care, it doesn't hurt anymore

How I have longed for this moment

.

The last thing I see before darkness

Is the door opening and Sherlock's feet

I hear a "John!" full of distress

And feel strong arms wrap around me

.

My eyes close and I feel numb

I'm aware of him shaking me

Maybe that decision was dumb

As I die I mutter, "I'm sorry"


	2. Silence, Stradivarius and Sorrow

**SHERLOCK**

.

I'm not blind, nor am I a fool

I know well how people see me

Some think I'm cold, some even say cruel

But his sorrow, how could I not see?

.

I see the bags under his eyes

I see the weight he keeps losing

I see the marks crossing his arms

Their number all but increasing

.

I tell myself, with every new one

That I'll confront him about it

But then I see the look in his eyes

And think "Next time, next time I'll say it"

.

If I never tell him anything

It's not that I don't care, by far

But how could I ever start fussing

With puncture marks upon my arm?

.

He's given up hiding the scars

He probably thinks I don't care

How could I let things get this far?

I'm lucky he's even still there

.

I hear his footsteps on the stairs

Then see some blood drops on his hands

I just mouth "Ouch" as he stands there

But somehow I think he understands

.

I stand up, wanting so bad to tell him

That it's okay, that if he wants I can help

I want to say that I'm there for him

And I hate it when he hurts himself

.

But what I do is take my coat

Thrust him his then move forward

Tell him that Lestrade has called

As a voice inside me shouts "Coward!"

.

I though a case would do the trick

Cheer him up the way I can't

But one look at the girl and reality clicks

It's nothing that I need or want

.

Can't they all see it's suicide?

I'm angrier than I should be

"You've wasted my time" I tell Lestrade

Then I leave, John following me

.

Back home I get my violin

My fury and sorrow speaking through it

John leaves the room, still not talking

And something in me doesn't like it

.

Why do I feel so uneasy?

Moreso than usual, that is

What I saw my friends eyes, maybe

A look that was so far from his

.

I can't exactly say what

But something feels so wrong to me

Surely he would never do that

No, he never would... Would he?

.

A thump from upstairs cuts deep inside

My numb fingers drop my dear violin

Horrible images fill my mind

And just like that I start running

.

I wrench open the bathroom door

Heart pounding as I stand and stare

At my best friend lying on the floor

Tears, blood and regret everywhere

.

I call his name in my distress

And hold him in my arm, aware

That we wouldn't be in this mess

If only I'd done it sooner

.

His eyes close, mine start to burn

As I shake him and ask him why

His faint "I'm sorry" is barely heard

A poor excuse of a goodbye

.

I sit there and cradle his body, crying into his hair

It seems that after all I am a fool

How could he leave after teaching me how to care?

How could I be so blind? How could he be so cruel?

?


End file.
